


...And Rabbits

by PurpleMoon3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:04:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMoon3/pseuds/PurpleMoon3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Wherein the Johnson clan are from the Mountains of Moon and decide to stick it out in the Kingswood with a few other mountain clans.  They then hear about their little dwarf's upcoming trial, and know just who to call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...And Rabbits

Cersei sat with rapt attention as the Maester Pycelle called on the Seven to oversee the coming battle and judge fairly.  It didn't matter what the gods thought; she knew her brother was guilty and soon he would be good as dead.  With the disgusting excuse for a brother, a man, mutilated and burried worries for her life and her children's lives would evaporate as if they never were.  She was Queen, and with the Mountain as her unjustly murdered son's champion -so much stronger and better looking than the _dog_ that ran away with its tail tucked- the outcome was certain.  Not even the Warrior himself could change Tyrion's fate.

Though it was admirable for his little band of barbarians to try.  Even if she did wonder how they had gotten past the goldcloaks; both she and her father had given strict orders to deny them entrance to the city.   

_Old Maggie was but a fool and a charlatan, her prophecies mere words on the wind._

Prince Oberyn was sitting like an impudent whore, morose with impotent anger as his sister's killer entered the yard.  Her own little birds had reported him riding out to the Kingswood where the stupidly loyal remnants of Tyrion's mountain men lurked like a bad smell, no doubt to talk them out of offering the imp a champion or to talk them into slipping poison on the champion's blade.  

Cersei was a little surprised when the huddle of clansmen parted and a man nearly as large as the Hound stepped onto the sand.  He wore bearskins and boiled leather, with a nose that looked like it had been broken so many times he'd finally given up setting it.  A brawler and a brute, unintelligent too judging by the small smith's hammer he picked for a weapon.  The balding man growled something in a barbarian's tongue that managed to cause the Martell to pause in his wine drinking.

"Something on your mind, Prince Oberyn?"  Cersei poked the man with a metaphorical spear as her own blessed man stepped up.  His sword was half again the length of a child.  He would kill the other man before he could even hope to hand a blow; if Gregor didn't decide to play with him first.

The Prince shrugged, wine sloshing.  "Lord Tyrion's man does not like giants."

Behind them, Lord Vary's tittered.  "Ah, yes, Derrickard is known for being more than a bit mad.  But very loyal to his, forgive me my Queen, Prince Oberyn, Old Tongue does not always translate cleanly, 'Father'."

"That boy could be his son!"  Oberyn exclaimed while the two giants circled each other.  The boy in question was sitting beside his eldest brother, under the awning that held her own chained sibling, and kept glancing away from the fight to peer at the sky.  Clouds were gathering.  A superstitious lot, these mountain men.

Varys and the Viper's conversation faded to background murmurers as Cersei's heart pounded in bloodlust.  The Mountain brought his sword down, but the barbarian did not have the decency to be there.  They moved around each other, charges and faints, until Ser Gregor's blade kissed the barbarian's belly and sent him staggering back with a thin belt of red.  Ser Gregor charged to finish the man, to thrust the tip of his sword into the opened line of flesh and twist-.

"No!"  Cersei barked out, rage overtaking as the wounded man threw his hammer with enough force to crack bone.  The Mountain staggered to a stop, screaming, clutching his bloody face. 

The barbarian roared in turn, tackling Ser Gregor and wrestling with him on the ground.  Thunder roared over head.  They locked into place, Ser Gregor squeezing the Barbarian's head, thumbs pressing into his eyes, while the Barbarian tried in vain to crush the Mountain's throat.  In a manner of moments, Tyrion would be dead.  Cersei smiled, grim satisfaction.

A hysterical shout of Old Tongue from the awning of her brother-

Cersei's eyes snapped shut at the sudden, painful brightness.  Lightning flashed down on the two combatants.

Only the Barbarian got up, after tossing Ser Gergor's body, corpse, off of him.  No one spoke, but there was ringing in Cercei's ears.  The Barbarian stood, and shakily walked to retrieve his fallen hammer.

(Cersei never noticed the way Mekail son of Jon, of the Sons of the Tree, grinned mercilessly at her.) 


End file.
